


Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 21:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a young woman is caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, she accuses Casino of rape in order to prevent anyone finding out what she was really doing at Hotel Marchant.  As the plot thickens, danger reaches out for not only Casino, but also for Major Kevin Richards.  Everyone seems to be hiding something in this merry-go-round of lies and ulterior motives.  Except for Casino.  He was just trying for a decent night's sleep!





	1. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were both in the wrong place at the wrong time; sometimes that happened, of course. Luckily Camille Larson was an old hand at Charades, though Casino wouldn't have taken that viewpoint if anyone had asked him. He didn't consider anything about that whole damned mess LUCKY!
> 
> Told from Camille's POV, with an Aside by Henri Marchant, proprietor of Hotel Marchant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> War years, after 'Honey'd Mead'.

He'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she was sorry for that, well, sort of, maybe, but somehow it seemed appropriate. After all SHE'D been in the wrong place at the wrong time too, coming out of a hotel room just in time to catch a glimpse of her brother Andrew and two of his friends coming down the hall. They were laughing and joking and hadn't seen her, not yet, but she'd locked the door behind her as she was leaving, so she couldn't duck back in.

Luckily for her latest, well, boyfriend, manfriend, pickup, target, whatever you wanted to call him, that door and the one to the room next to it were side by side; they had heard a surprisingly melodic snore coming from inside earlier, laughed when the snore jolted to a halt when they had gotten a little loud. That was the door that she turned the knob urgently now, and finding it only half-latched, backed in, glancing back over her shoulder, wide-eyed, fear on her face, almost as if she was being yanked back from someone on the inside. {"All those years of playing charades comes in handy sometimes,"} she thought smugly.

Maybe Andrew hadn't seen her, but if he had, hopefully she could convince him it was THIS room she'd been in, not the other, and even better, that she'd not been there willingly. This last one, well, he liked it a little rough, and since she did too sometimes, there were more than a few marks and more. She knew Andrew, she knew how his mind worked, and she damned well what a doctor would tell him if Andrew dragged her to one right now. She, THEY couldn't afford for that to happen, not without an explanation, one as far away from the truth as possible. She had a job to do, a part to play, and, she had to admit, one she was enjoying more than a little. Sometimes she enjoyed it perhaps more than she should, but as long as she did her job, THEY didn't seem to mind too much. Sometimes, even . . .

She froze when she heard a voice behind her, "ya lost, lady?? Aint the right time of night to be waltzing into a guy's room, ya know??" Thinking rapidly, she whirled and flung herself at the dark-haired man behind her, raking first his face with her long polished nails, then his naked chest. She ripped her dress frantically as he lurched back, cursing a blue streak, hands to his bloody face. Turning, she banged herself into the armoire beside the door, as hard as she could, then when the pounding started on the door {"yes, I thought Andrew had recognized me!"} pulled the door open to throw herself into her brother's startled arms, and pour out the whole tragic story, a story she'd expound on later, but for now a few sobbed words got the message across.

When Casino yanked that door open to follow after her, he was wearing all the proof they needed, those long bleeding scratches, his only clothing his pants and those not even fastened. Against one furious brother and two almost as furious best friends of said brother, he didn't have a chance. Only the advent of a bleary-eyed Henri Marchant kept more blood from being spilt. It all erupted again after Henri sent for Actor and Chief, the brother sent one of his friends for the police, and a quick whisper from the lady summoned another worthy, not to the scene, but to wait in the shadows for the right moment. 

Aside by Henri Marchant, of Hotel Marchant - "I Should Have Known Better"  
Sometimes the life of a hotelier was more exciting than others. Frankly, Henri would have been just as happy with less excitement. He regretted now giving in to the plea on Casino's part to "a room away from the others this time, okay? Gotta splittin headache and I just want ta sleep!" No, Henri should have insisted Casino stay in the private section, like Garrison's men had from the beginning, even if he would have had to share three to a room. Meghada had cautioned him about that, told him 'things just seem to HAPPEN when the guys are around, Henri; they don't plan for them to happen, well, not always anyway; but they just DO!"; he really should have listened! And as for the other complication? Well, he was trying to do the right thing, but sometimes he wondered if his hotel, its reputation would survive; the bombs weren't the only dangers in this war.


	2. "Well, Warden, It Was Like This"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Casino relates the whole pitiful story to Garrison, they get the word that charges have been dropped, that 'the lady offers her apologies'. Also, the little tidbit that 'no mention is to be made of any of this. The lady's secrets are our secrets, our interests coincide'. The messenger? A 'Shadow Man', one of those shadowy individuals who do special undescribed things for un-named people, all in the name of patriotism. Or something calling itself that, anyway. Can Patrick or Michael O'Donnell worm the truth of the matter out of Henri Marchant, a man in an untenable position?

"Well, you look like hell!" Garrison said, hands on his hips looking at the truly battered, bloody and bedraggled man sitting on the bunk in the lock-up. Casino raised a weary head, too glad to see a somewhat friendly face to even make a snappy comeback.

"Shit, Warden, if I look anything like I feel, you gotta come up with a better word. I passed 'like hell' a couple a hours ago," he groaned. He started to drag himself to his feet but Garrison motioned him back.

"Not yet, just stay put. I don't have the release straightened out for you yet. You want to tell me what happened?" moving closer to place one foot on the bunk, leaning forward to rest one forearm on his thigh. And Casino pour out the whole sad story, one two-day pass gone to hell in a freakin handbasket.

"So Actor and Chief were still goin strong, the booze and the broads, the cards still goin in their favor, but that headache just wouldn't go away!"

He gave Garrison a sheepish look, "guess you all were right about my taking it easy after that last little mix-up. Seems the tail-end of a concussion doesn't mix so well with the booze and all the noise. Just, didn't want to miss out on the fun, ya know?"

Garrison nodded; well, he'd done the same more than once, rattled off a crisp, "I'm fine!" when he knew damned well he wasn't. Not usually for the same purposes, but still. Casino must really be hurting to admit, "shoulda done like the little Limey, skipped this one. Course, aint the same. Doubt Sergeant Major would be givin me the VIP treatment like SHE'S likely givin Goniff!"

Goniff had taken a major pounding in that last little caper, and was back at the Mansion, well, supposedly. The guys figured he'd be spending most of his time at The Cottage getting fed and pampered, that is if Meghada had made it back from her last little jaunt. Sometimes it seemed she was as busy on the behalf of the Allied cause as before her Contracts ended, much to Goniff's annoyance. Garrison spared a wry grin, "somehow I doubt it; and you know, Casino, even if the Sergeant Major did agree to that, I don't think you'd enjoy it half as much as Goniff is enjoying HIS pampering!" Well, there wasn't really any argument to that. Casino continued his story.

"So I come back to the hotel, get Henri to give me a different room so I won't hear the guys when they get back. Put a note on their door so they wouldn't worry, as least I paid a kid to do that. Undressed, crawled into bed, went to sleep. Woke up once; there was this couple next door, having a real good time, sounded like. Almost pounded on the wall, but figured, hell, coulda been me making all the noise, so just pulled the pillow over my head, went back to sleep, dreaming about that last job, the one that got so dicey. All of a sudden, there's someone fiddling with the door. Well, you know how it is; we're so used to moving on the double, being on guard, I was up and in my pants before I got my eyes open. Some dame standing there, I say something, don't know exactly, something bout it being late to come waltzing into a guy's room, something like that, and she goes nuts! Screechin and clawing at me like crazy," reaching up to touch the ugly marks on his face.

"Those need looking after; no one offered?"

"Hell, Warden, with all she was saying, I'm lucky to look as good as I did. Surprised they didn't lynch me right then and there. No, they didn't offer to clean me up, a lotta other stuff, yeah, but not that. Three guys worked me over some before Henri got em to back off, then the cops came, and Henri sent for Actor and Chief, and then it got even louder. I ended up in here, don't know about them."

Garrison ran his hand through his hair in frustration, "they're next door, they look better than you, at least they don't have the claw marks."

 

A quiet clearing of the throat from a uniformed policeman at the bars let them know they weren't alone; the tall man, NOT in military uniform but not really needing to be, it was so obvious what, if not who, he was, standing beside him nodded congenially at Garrison - one of those 'shadow men' who did various undisclosed errands and tasks for Whitehall and elsewhere. 

"Lieutenant, everything is in order. They are going to release your men to you now. It was all a most unfortunate misunderstanding. It has all been explained to these officers; there are no charges."

Garrison raised a dubious eyebrow, "and the woman? She says that too, no charges, just a 'misunderstanding'? That's a hell of a difference from what she was saying before."

"Lieutenant, we are both men of the world. The lady was startled; she was, shall we say, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she panicked. She offers her apologies for her actions."

Garrison took a look at Casino, that battered and bloodied face, bloody streaks on his shirt, then back at the officer facing him. "I'm not so sure that's good enough, sir. She could have gotten him killed, him and my other men; tempers run hot when a woman yells 'rape'."

"Yes, well, it will have to be good enough, Lieutenant. And there's to be no discussion of this, no gossip, no bandying about of the incident. The lady's secrets are her own, and we have no intention of brunting them around. Especially when she is acting on . . . . Well, let's just say our interests coincide, shall we? Her secrets are OUR secrets, you even might say." 

Secrets? What Secrets?  
"Really? 'Our interests coincide? Her secrets are OUR secrets?' And just what might those interests be, Craig?" Actor asked. Garrison had gathered the three and headed over to have Patrick patch them up. The Lieutenant had recognized an order when he heard it, but frankly it pissed him off. If his team, his men, took this much damage because of some game the military or the government was playing, he wanted to know more.

"Casino, I know it happened pretty quick, but what can you tell me about the woman, those guys?" The woman had been rushed away before Actor and Chief had come on the scene, so they had nothing to add there, though they had partial names and full descriptions of the three men taking part in the action. Actor had one thing to add, though.

"And of course the hallway was full of doors either open fully or perhaps cracked, so the occupants could take it all in. Except for one room, the room next to Casino's. There was a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, and that door stayed shut. Though I had a feeling there was someone there, listening."

Chief nodded, "yeah, I got that too. Gotta feeling Marchant knows more than he was saying too." 

Goniff was perched on a chair in the corner, watching and listening, not relishing the trip up to London and back, but not willing to let Garrison go off on his own, not with the guys in trouble.

"Well, acourse 'e does, one way or another. Maybe not about the skirt or why she pulled that stunt with Casino, but it's 'is business, keeps a close eye on it. Clan aint gonna 'ave private quarters in someplace they don't think they can trust the one w'at's running things."

Goniff wasn't particularly happy: he wasn't happy about the false accusations, he wasn't happy about Casino getting raked over or beaten up; he still wasn't happy that Meghada hadn't come back in time to give him some personalized pampering.

Patrick paused in his work, "want me or Michael to have a word with Henri, Craig? We've known him for a long time; I think he'll talk to us much more readily than to you, especially if it's something delicate." And Garrison agreed, knowing he'd not have much luck in that quarter, gathered the men and headed back home.


	3. Inconvenient Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The affair takes a Shakespearean turn with a quote from 'Henry II', "will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?" As the Shadow Man gives Camille a new assignment, her mind drifts to Casino, thinking of that little matter as unfinished business. Then there's the matter of Major Kevin Richards. Talk about an 'inconvenient man'! Perhaps if she gets really busy, she might just earn a bonus from the Shadow Man; after all, she needed to do a little shopping.

Camille was quite pleased with the whole thing; after all, it could have gone much worse! Now, as she related to that unnamed officer, the 'shadow man', the one she thought of as 'Set' in her mind, "he was most grateful that I kept him, his name and face, out of it all. I think he trusts me quite a bit more now, and that could prove useful. Do you want me to pursue that avenue, or did you have something else in mind for me?" She lit a cigarette with a graceful sweep of her hand.

"We had something else in mind, but it is an ideal opportunity, obviously. Do you think he'll buy your having to be out of town for a few days? Without arousing his suspicion? This other job is in Somerset, shouldn't take you long, probably just travel time plus a few hours. In fact, you might consider it a bit of a reward for that quick thinking. This new one, he may have been useful in the past, but he is now becoming 'inconvenient'. There is a bonus, of course."

"'Inconvenient'? As in Henry II? And how MUCH of a bonus?"

And the man sitting behind that wide polished desk smiled, a very knowing smile, "exactly, my dear. As in, 'will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?' As for the bonus, say half again as much?" He gave a sly chuckle at her eager look. 

She nodded her understanding, {"Yes, I was right to nickname him 'Set' - Egyptian god of disorder and violence. I think he might enjoy it as much as I do."}. She didn't know him by any other name, felt it was probably less dangerous that way, but she had to call him SOMETHING, after all, at least in her own mind, so 'Set' he became. Out loud, she just settled for an occasional 'Sir'.

Her smile was eager, and she licked her lips in anticipation. The other night, well, it had whetted her appetite; the sight of blood, the feel of flesh ripping under her nails, it always did that to her. She'd rather thought of searching him out, that dark haired man, maybe finishing what she'd started. She did so hate to leave things with loose ends, especially once blood had been drawn. But for some reason, Henri Marchant had turned a rather odd color when she'd hinted in that direction, had asked for the man's name; he had explained it would be more than a little unwise to have further contact; that the dark haired man and those other two had friends who would be highly displeased and well capable of making their displeasure known in ways even she might not be able to cope with. 

She didn't like Marchant, thought him weak, but he and his establishment WERE useful, so perhaps she'd abide by his 'request'. Maybe. Though she had taken the liberty of obtaining the name and other information on the man from a different source, just in case she had some spare time, had the inclination to renew the acquaintance.

Oh, well, this would be a nice substitute for now; it was so nice when she was given a patriotic reason for indulging that little appetite. So nice that the shadow man, Set, understood that, understood that appetite and all the others, gave her an outlet for them. Why, she might just get a medal for all her activities! Wouldn't that surprise the hell out of that tiresome brother of hers and that even more tiresome friend of his he kept trying to marry her off to.

What was the fool thinking?? Prim and proper, ever so correct Kevin Richards, Major Kevin Richards, the one with the idiot sister that talked all the time. She gave a sly smile, thought to herself, {"I wonder how he'd hold up to one of my little 'games'? It might be interesting to find out. But of course, Andrew would just drag out someone equally tiresome, I suppose. My brother just has so little imagination! And Set might object as well; I might just mention Richards to him sometime, see how he reacts."}.

In fact, she mentioned him just a few sentences later, to discover Set considered Major Kevin Richards just as tiresome as she did, quite annoying in fact. Perhaps since Set was giving her that lovely little treat down in Somerset sorting out that 'inconvenient' man, she might make time to sort out another 'inconvenient' man, maybe two. Set might even be grateful, give her an even larger bonus. She really did need a few new dresses.


	4. Conflicting Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henri Marchant was a true-hearted, loyal man. That was his problem right now. He was loyal, perhaps to too many people at the same time. He was pretty sure the tightrope he was walking wasn't safe, and it wasn't doing his blood pressure any good either. He was learning first hand that the saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' just wasn't true. So far, he'd kept his balance, but now, seeing first one 'friend of a friend', then another get put into harm's way, he has to make a decision - whose side does he come down on? And will he survive the experience?

Things had calmed down, he had reduced the rate on the guests' bill, the ones who'd been subjected to that loud and violent scene. He felt a great deal of inner conflict about that; after all, he was trying to run a business, and besides, considering the looks on some of their faces as they stood there in their doorways watching so avidly, he probably should have charged them extra for the entertainment value! Still, he did the proper thing for a hotelier, and his business partner, well, their local representative, had agreed. "Another reason to keep Garrison and his men up in the private section, Henri. This could get expensive, and as I told you, things just do HAPPEN when they're around!" 

That other matter, the charges that had been so suddenly dropped, the reasons for that, he hesitated about saying anything further to his business partner. He thought he had probably dissuaded the clever Miss Larson from taking any further action with regards to Garrison's man, but he also knew that 'probably' wouldn't count for a damn if he was wrong. Miss Larson was dangerous; his business partner, far more so in the long run, even if you discounted the fact that he considered his partner a friend. He really hated war, for a variety of reasons; one he'd never really come up against before - split responsibilities, conflicting loyalties. 

He'd made up his mind that, yes, he did need to tell her, if not everything, then enough for her to take some safeguards if she felt it necessary. That decision was reinforced when he walked into his small dining room and saw Camille Larson at that small side table, Major Kevin Richards sitting across from her. Oh, to see her here was nothing new; ever since he'd received a visit from that representative of the Allied forces, requesting his cooperation, the occasional use of his facilities, the occasional turning of a blind eye, Camille Larson had appeared many times. With many different men. Sometimes here in the dining room, but not always. He doubted any of those men benefited from the experience, at least not on more than a temporary basis. She made his blood run cold every time he saw her.

{"Perhaps this today is a social thing, nothing important,"} he tried to tell himself, but he knew better. She had never 'socialized' here; it was always business. He'd observed her before, and it was evident to him that she was in full hunting mode and the man sitting across from her was her newest target. 

Henri suppressed a groan. Major Richards was no stranger to him either. He had been here many times, sometimes dining in the company of one of the sisters or brothers, all Clan O'Donnell, his 'silent' business partner. He'd seen handshakes between the men, an occasional kiss on the cheek with one of the sisters; he'd seen some fierce, if quiet, quarrelling, as well, but underneath it all, there was steadfast affection. Now he knew he had no choice, except for which one to approach, which one was more likely to react less, well, maybe be a little more understanding of his delay in telling them of his little 'arrangement'. He knew one thing, it would not be Meghada; knives made him nervous in hands other than his chef!


	5. Secrets?  What Secrets?  (Reprised)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Michael prepares to explain matters to Major Kevin Richards, Patrick undertakes to fill Garrison and the guys in on the situation. Sometimes Garrison tends to underestimate the level of Clan in the brothers, until he is reminded, as Patrick tells him, "it's in the blood, Lieutenant".

Patrick had showed up at the Mansion with a cloth bag containing three bottles of bourbon, the good stuff. Somehow no one felt that was a good sign.

"Bourbon? Ya usually bring whiskey when yer bringing bad news, Patrick," Casino noted, though he hadn't hesitated about grabbing a bottle and twisting the cap off, sloshing a portion in the mismatched glasses Goniff had fetched at the first sign of the liquid refreshment.

"Yes, well, I don't usually steal my offerings from my sister's cottage, either, but doing that did let me add this to the table as well," pulling a tin of sweet biscuits from the bag.

Goniff looked hopeful, then realized what that word 'steal' meant, and a mighty frown came to his mobile face, "she aint 'ome YET?? Ruddy 'ell, w'ere they send 'er this time, China??"

Patrick almost dropped the bottle he was taking out, "damn it, Goniff, how did you . . .?" then stopped, realizing the pickpocken HADN'T known, was just making a point, but now he AND the others knew quite well.

"China??! What would they have her doing in China?" Actor wondered.

"Pretty much same as she does for them everywhere else, I'd guess," Chief said, dryly, "China's been around for a long time; hope it's still there by the time she leaves. You know how she gets."

That got more than one snicker, one outright laugh, and a grudging smile from Patrick, "well, I don't think she intended to level the place, not if they cooperate with her, anyway."

They sat and shared a drink, nibbled the biscuits, well, the rest of them nibbled, Goniff pretty much inhaled the sweet treats. When he got a sharp, "Goniff!" from Garrison, he protested, "ei, Warden. She's a right good cook, you know; and these, got em just like I like em!" Of course, that was rewarded with a few comments about they'd never seen him meet a sweet biscuit he DIDN'T like, and his retort of, "well, aint so fond of those ginger biscuits she makes, though they do clear out your 'ead right enough. Coo! Course, says that's the one thing she makes just for 'erself, not so much liking the sweet stuff. Not sure she puts any sugar or 'oney in those at all!"

Patrick laughed, "I think you may be right, Goniff; only thing sharper I've tasted are the spice biscuits Caeide makes; most people, if they're going to put chopped ginger in a biscuit, they use the crystallized sugar kind - Caeide, first time she made those from a recipe didn't understand that, used the non-sugar kind! Just about took your breath away, and she never switched over; says she LIKES the 'tang'. More like a blow torch to my mind!"

Garrison had been sitting back, watching the byplay, and now figured it was time to get down to business, "okay, so we've had the refreshments, we've had the comedy routine, we've had the geography lesson. What's the real reason you're here, Patrick?"

Well, no one ever said Garrison was dumb. Stubborn as hell, maybe, but not dumb. Patrick sighed, and nodded. Delaying wouldn't make anything he had to say go down any better.

"That incident at Hotel Marchant, where Casino got his cat-scratches," nodding at the safecracker with the still painful marks on his face. "We think, no, we KNOW that isn't a closed book. We don't know for sure if it's going to involve Casino again, but it just might, and you all need to be on your guard."

Garrison looked at the solemn face on the young man, and reached out to tip another drink all round. "Alright, let's have it, the whole story. I just got the runaround, kept running into brick walls when I asked questions."

"Yes, well, I can see that. Here's what we know . . ."

"I dont get it, Patrick. W'at's a German spy doing running around 'otel Marchant! And why didn't Meghada know? She'd 'ave warned us, we know that!"

Actor watched the expression of disgust on Patrick's face, "but she's not a GERMAN spy, is she Patrick? Perhaps American, British?" he said. "That would account for us not being told."

Patrick now had a flush of anger on his face. "Yes to the first part, but hell no to the second, Actor! If you haven't noticed, we may share a common enemy, but the Clan and the Allies aren't exactly in lockstep about a lot of things. We DIDN'T know; they somehow persuaded Henri Marchant into giving them a place of operations, some discreet cover for the activities of their agent. Told him it was the patriotic thing to do. He's been walking a tightrope of loyalties, trying to balance his relationship with the Clan versus this new relationship with Allied Intelligence. He seems to have made it fairly well, though probably growing a whole crop of ulcers in the doing, til this happened."

Garrison shook his head, really wanting SOMEONE to get to the point. "So what DID happen? What the hell was the rape charge all about?"

"Their agent is a woman, code name 'Sundew'. She was with her target in the room next to Casino's, just leaving when, joy oh joy, she spots not just a friend in the hallway, but her brother and two of his friends - those three who worked you over, Casino. She couldn't involve her target; he was just starting to be useful, and she had to put her brother on the wrong track. He doesn't know about her activities, would be appalled and try to interfere, and there was no way she could legitimately explain her being there in the middle of the night, nor her condition. I understand her target left a few marks, and any physician would have confirmed she hadn't spent her evening sipping tea and eating sweet biscuits! As an aside, the reason, well, part of the reason Sundew is so effective, she uses sex as a tool to lure her target; word is she enjoys her work a great deal. So, she backs into Casino's room, mimicking being yanked back in, and proceeds to set a very convincing 'I was raped!' scenario. I understand she found his presence and manner of dress, or undress, most convenient. She told Henri he was 'just in the right place at the right time'."

Casino shook his head, fingering those scratches, "not exactly how I'd a put it, more like being in the wrong place at the wrong time," and no one argued with him on that point.

"So, the 'shadow man' got the charges dropped afterwards to, what, keep us from trying to find out the truth? What about the brother?"

"I'm not sure what kind of a story they told him; he doesn't seem very happy, overall, though. But yes, they didn't want you poking around, and you DO have the reputation for doing that. The 'shadow man' had to know you would never stand for Casino's taking the fall. I believe keeping the target from being seen was the most vital part, however, and that they succeeded in doing."

"You said you think it might not be over. Why?"

A frown flickered over Patrick's face, "I told you she's an agent, that she uses sex to lure her target. She's also a few other things. An assassin, certainly, well, most of the agents take on that role when needed," risking a quick glance at Goniff, only to see a calm acceptance there. {"Well, Meghada wouldn't have hidden that from him, I suppose."}. "She is perhaps performing her duties out of patriotism, but Michael says it's more than likely that she finds it convenient and more than a little pleasurable as well. He calls her a homicidal nymphomaniac; he's done the research, says she likes blood-letting, enjoys it quite a bit, is more than a bit of a sadist along with it. Seems to have a thing about not letting a job go unfinished, rather the 'once first blood has been spilled' sort of thing. Well, most agents tend to think that way about not letting go of a job; I know you have a reputation in that line as well, Lieutenant," getting some rueful chuckles from around the table.

"Our Sundew, though, occasionally lets her inclinations get her carried away from the business over to the personal. She drew blood with Casino; she drew Henri Marchant aside afterwards, wanting his name and all the particulars. Henri declined, tried to warn her off, but it wouldn't have taken much to get that information elsewhere, you know. And Casino isn't the only one. Henri spotted her with Kevin Richards; said she bore all the signs of being on the hunt. Word is her brother has been trying to throw the two of them together, thinking Kevin would be a good match, maybe get his sister to settle down. Seems she's a little annoyed at the idea. We don't know what she's intending, toward Casino or Kevin, but frankly, I doubt it's anything too pleasant."

"So, what do we do? Can her Handler call her off?"

Patrick shook his dark head, "seems her Handler thinks she's too valuable to risk losing, lets her amuse herself occasionally as long as it doesn't interfere with business."

Garrison protested, "one of a Special Forces team? And Richards??! The man would accept her targeting a British military officer? That doesn't make good sense."

"Lieutenant, the 'shadow man', her Handler, if he's who we think he is, he and Richards don't see eye to eye on any number of things; I believe Kevin has put a spoke in his wheel a time or two. I don't actually think he'd object too much!"

"Shit! You know, if everyone up there paid as much attention to the war . . ."

"Yes, I know, but that's really nothing new, Lieutenant. The same games, the same ambitions, the same players - war just provides a new avenue, new opportunities, plus the added advantage of placing it under the ever-so-honorable title of 'patriotism'." 

Casino snorted in disgust, "so, like the Warden said, whatta we do? Just wait for this Snowdrop or whatever the hell she calls herself to show up and try to off me?"

Patrick grinned, "Sundew, not Snowdrop. A Sundew is a carnivorous plant, Casino - very beautiful and very effective in luring and destroying its prey. And no, we're not going to wait, not for long. We are getting some expert advice. But in the meantime, YOU and the others are going to be on guard - no wandering away on your own, none of you. No taking up with strange women, any of you. No answering mysterious, or even not so mysterious, summons to meetings in odd places. Give us a little time."

Garrison asked, "what about Richards? Does he know any of this?"

Patrick looked at his watch, "by now, I would think so. Michael was taking care of that end of things. I admit I would be much more comfortable if Meghada were back, keeping an eye on things here. Oh, and guys, if Sundew does show up, if things get, well, out of hand. Call me. I can arrange for . . . Well, just call it 'maid service', a little tidy cleaning up?"

Garrison just looked at him in sheer disbelief. "You know, Patrick, sometimes you remind me of your sisters more than I'm really comfortable with," he remarked dryly.

Patrick just gave him a sly grin, "I'm still Clan, Lieutenant, even if I am a guy. It runs in the blood, you know?"


	6. A Botany Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First it was biological sciences and that damned frog! Now, Major Kevin Richards is being given a botany lesson by the oldest O'Donnell brother, Michael. Sometimes he wishes they would just come right out and say what they meant! Well, he wished that til Michael did exactly that. Now he wondered if they could just go back to the frog! Watching all those carnivorous plants catching and eating their insect lunches hadn't helped his uneasy stomach. Finding out he is apparently now the targeted prey of a human 'Sundew' just didn't make his upset stomach feel a damned bit better. 
> 
> Michael sympathizes, of course, especially when an unexpected visitor gives him his own set of collywobbles. And that little concert he was serenaded with, it didn't make him feel one bit better! War drums, bagpipes and trumpets just aren't a peaceful combination.

"Kew Gardens? An unlikely place for a conversation, Michael. Are we to wander, or find a bench?"

"Let's wander, Kevin. Or rather, let's take a short tour of a particular exhibit. There's something I want you to see, then we'll talk."

Kevin Richards hadn't been greatly surprised when the call came from Michael O'Donnell; he and the oldest of the O'Donnell siblings got along well, and on more than one occasion the bronze skinnned young man had smoothed out a troubled relationship between Richards and the other members of the family - particularly the sisters, who had, if not a love-hate relationship with the officer, at least it was a relationship of deep fondness mixed with equally deep exasperation - on both sides!

They walked down a winding path, entered a side door of a conservatory. A white garbed attendant was releasing what seemed the last of three boxes of insects, flinging them into the air and dodging back quickly. After picking up the empty boxes, he left.

"Insects? For pollination?"

Michael laughed, "no, for food. Here, let me take you on a brief tour. This is a Venus flytrap." Michael explained the capturing and feeding process, and moved on to a varied collection of pitcher plants. Richards was regretting eating lunch before coming here; it wasn't sitting all that well in his stomach now.

"Michael, is there some purpose . . . " he started to say, only to get that oh-so-familiar grin, and knew it was coming quickly now.

"This, Kevin, is a drosera. Beautiful isn't it, those graceful curves, the lovely colors, the adorning rays. The common name is 'Sundew', a beautiful name for a beautiful plant. Beautiful . . . and deadly to its chosen prey."

Kevin was getting an uncomfortable feeling, "and this should interest me because??"

"Because you have attracted the attention of a human 'Sundew'. In fact, that's her code name, and it does fit her quite well. Here, let's go back to my place, have a drink, and I'll tell you a little story."

Soon they were off the grounds and headed to a nearby residential area where Michael kept a flat.

Back at Michael's place, sharing a much needed drink, "Camille Larson???! You must be joking! She's a lady! I've known the family forever; her brother Andrew is even a casual friend of sorts. I sometimes think he fancies the idea of a match between me and his sister, not that there is any interest there on either side. In fact, I took her to lunch just yesterday; she is planning something for Andrew and wanted my opinion." 

"Yes, I know you took her to lunch, and yes, she is certainly planning something, though not for Andrew. That's what prompted this little foray into the botanical gardens. I'm told she is in hunting mode, and displaying every sign of making you her next target. Kevin, the men Sundew hunts, for business or for pleasure, they don't fare well. Her Handler, and yes she is most certainly working under orders from Whitehall or somewhere similar, keeps her on a fairly loose lead, probably because most of her activities are to his benefit, supposedly to the benefit of the war effort. However, either he doesn't have her under as tight a control as he might, or he is willing to indulge her more, shall we say, outre whims and notions. To be quite frank, Kevin, in my opinion Camille Larson is perhaps a lady, perhaps a patriot; she most assuredly is a spy, for our side only as far as I know; she is also a woman who knows how to kill and maim and destroy, and more to the point, enjoys it a great deal. Oh, and I'm pretty sure she's a nymphomaniac, though I'm not sure that's germane to the current problem, though it certainly explains how she gets her targets' interest initially.

"I can't believe it! And why would she target me? Certainly not for information; I've never been one for pillow talk, we don't have that kind of relationship anyway. And besides, if she's working for our side, why would she even NEED any information I might have?"

Michael shook his head, "you keep thinking logically, Kevin, and this isn't a logical type of situation. It has nothing to do with 'information'. Camille likes to cause pain - emotional will do, in a pinch, but she really prefers physical. My informant tells me that she's heard about all she wants to hear from her brother about how good a match you would be, she totally despises Julie, and has decided to spread a little pain around. I don't know which she is intending, emotional or physical, one or the other or maybe both. I CAN assure you it will be highly unpleasant, perhaps fatally so; my research indicates it has done so before, and NOT just in the 'line of duty'. Yes, she's working for our side; just because two people share a common enemy doesn't necessarily make them friends." 

"A good friend and I had a conversation about this; he's caught in a rather nasty paradoxical situation from which he is having difficulties escaping because of contradictory rules, conflicting loyalties. All parties involved are fighting a common enemy; that does NOT lessen his dilemma, how to walk that particular tightrope in the high winds of war. He is partnered with the Clan in a few select ways. He was also, a few months ago, persuaded by an individual representing certain of the Allied interests, to provide some degree of support to Camille and her activities, out of patriotism. He was not comfortable, but as long as he felt she was truly targeting their common enemy, he continued the support. He has walked a tightrope, not speaking of the Clan to this persuader, and not informing the Clan of the approach and his agreement.

However, quite recently, just by happenstance, she drew ANOTHER friend into the fray, one of Garrison's men, purposefully injuring him to avoid her brother possibly finding out about her activities, and appeared to be thinking of targeting him again for amusement's sake. Now, she's seemingly targeted you out of spite. This friend found all that more than he could justify, so he came to Patrick and myself. Well, better us than one of our sisters!" Michael gave a shudder that wasn't in the least feigned. 

Richards sat back against the cushions. "If you are right, and Michael, I still cannot believe you are, what's to be done? And you are right! If your sisters find out, well . . . ".

"Well, for one thing, you and Julie stay clear of Camille Larson! I'm taking this up with someone older and wiser, namely the parents; we'll see what they say." 

They shook hands, Richards headed back to his own flat, and Michael started to pour himself another drink.

"Pour me one too, Michael," and he jumped, whiskey spilling over onto the tray.

"Ciena! Shit!!!" as his younger sister leaned against the bedroom door, the look on her face decidedly annoyed - forget annoyed, she was seriously pissed!

"You didn't show for our appointment, big brother. Decided to come looking for you, stretched out on the bed to wait. Imagine you, getting all managerial and everything, thinking to handle this all by yourself. A homicidal nymphomaniac running around Marchant's, targeting one of Garrison's men AND Kevin Richards, and you're going to handle matters ALLLLL BY YOURSELF! Tsk, tsk, tsk. Michael? My drink?"

And a thoroughly shaken Michael poured her a drink, pouring himself another one as well, and sat down to face the music. Something with war drums, bagpipes and trumpets, he imagined and he wasn't far off. Well, maybe it was better that way; he really hadn't had a clue how to handle the situation.


	7. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shadow Man waxes philosophical, and Kevin Richards waxes suspicious.
> 
> Still, the one thing Michael and Kevin Richards could agree on was, "it could have been worse".

The Shadow Man was on the phone. "Yes, quite a pity, she was a most effective operative. And it was all most surprising. I never thought that 'loose end' up in Somerset would have proved himself capable of defending himself so effectively, not against her. Still, at least she managed to eliminate him. Must have been almost simultaneous, you know; her blow with the knife, his pistol shot." He listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Well, no, of course not. Her family has been notified of a tragic accident when a friend was cleaning his pistol; also of the man's suicide due to his overwhelming feelings of guilt. Yes, of course, we have other female agents, but hardly any with her level of skill or enthusiasm. They are hardly Sundew. I rather imagine there will never BE another Sundew. We'll just have to muddle along; I'm sure we'll manage."

Kevin Richards read the obituary, cut it out and placed it inside one of his older books, after he called and gave Garrison the news. "Older and wiser heads, my arse!" he muttered, shaking his own head. He'd called Lupan, the day after his conversation with Michael, asked what the older man thought about the situation, only to receive a puzzled, "Kevin, what are you talking about?" 

Now, a call to Michael got evasion after evasion, til Kevin marched over there and asked him point blank, "you told Meghada, didn't you?"

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, groaned and shook his head, "no, not Meghada. Seems Ciena was taking a nap in the bedroom when we had our little discussion. Have to tell you, Kevin, for all the parents say she's the coolest tempered of the girls, she scares the shit out of me sometimes! Seems she didn't much like the notion of, how did she put it, 'a homicidal nymphomaniac' wandering the halls at Hotel Marchant, much less of her targeting Casino and you. Actually, she was pretty pissed off about it. Of course, we lucked out in one way."

That got him a very jaundiced look from Kevin Richards, "oh? And how was that?"

Michael gave him a long look, "could have been Coura!"

And they shared a long shudder at the thought of how the YOUNGEST sister might have handled things, then a long drink, and a long companionable evening of toasting their luck, hoping it held.


End file.
